


Time Travel

by newsoong



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4484459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsoong/pseuds/newsoong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When visiting the Forbidden City in Beijing, Arthur is magically sent to the Year of 1862, where he once met Yao. What will he do to change history?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Travel

**Author's Note:**

> Answering the request of time travel iggychu. I've checked the news. The last time UK leaders (and Prince William) visited the Forbidden City was March 3, 2015. That's why this story happens in spring.
> 
> The story is originally written in Chinese by me, and I tried my best to translate it into English. You can read the Chinese version here →http://www.pixiv.net/novel/show.php?id=5455721
> 
> It is not a word-to-word translation because my English is not good enough to fully express myself. Some details are changed, and some paragraphs are added to make the narration clearer.
> 
> This story is completed with porcelaine-peony as the proofreader, and nana also gave me some suggestions. Thank you so much for all the help and encouragement!
> 
> R18 for drug abuse, sexual implications and bloody scenes.
> 
> This version also published on fanfiction.net.  
> You can check it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11394185/1/Time-Travel

It was still early spring in Beijing. Snowcaps on the distant mountains remained, colouring the clouds with melting white. Pigeon whistles were hustling in the deep blue sky, a sound which was a little bit unusual for the time.

Arthur watched those tireless birds circling the dark gold roofs of the Forbidden City. It reminded him that he had done exactly the same thing over 200 years ago, when he, accompanied by Sir George Macartney, visited this exotic Eastern Empire for the first time.

"I thought the smog would last for quite a while, but Grandpa Heaven finally decided to welcome you by blowing it away. My prayers worked!" Yao stretched out his fingers to the sun, his smile shining in the golden rays. "The Forbidden City looks prettier on sunny days."

"Isn't it because your boss commanded all the nearby factories to shut down? I heard even the residents are not allowed to cook with fire," Arthur was amused, his eyebrow half-lifted with doubts.

"Not exactly. I've talked to him about this. 'It is just a barbarian envoy coming from a tiny little island country in the Far West. There is no need to disturb our people's peaceful life that much'," he replied in an exaggerated tongue, imitating the ancient official's way of speaking. "So it was my sincere prayers which contributed 100% to this clear weather."

Arthur folded his arms, fingers tapping rhythmically. He didn't know whether he should feel angry or grateful or heart-warmed about his answer.

In order to welcome the Very Important Person from the United Kingdom, the Imperial Palace, which used to receive more than 80,000 tourists per day, was cleared out thoroughly. Yao and Arthur met anonymously, accompanying their own leaders. They walked in the almost empty Palace, enjoying precious moments free from diplomatic cliché.

They stepped into a tranquil yard with a forest of plum trees. Suddenly, an unusual scratch of anxiety raised in Arthur's chest. Feeling dizzy and chilled, he searched his pocket for a cigarette and lighter, only to remember that he had handed them in at the entrance.

It seemed Yao felt nothing special, however. He was still leading the way, talking about the supernatural phenomena of the Palace. "You know what? It is reported the Forbidden City is the No.1 hotspot for time travellers in my country. People can get sent to several centuries ago by high-falling, drowning, unsuccessful suicide, or simply stepping down a certain staircase..."

(Couldn't you remember anything?)"

Seriously, if you have a chance to travel back to the past, would you change anything?" The moment he turned back, Yao's smile froze on his face. A strong wind ran across the yard, plum petals danced in the wind like snowflakes, yet he could not find a single person except himself. "Arthur! Where are you? Arthur!"

 

* * *

 

Fixation on tradition can benefit you in some unexpected way. In the very least, it reduces bewilderment when you find yourself jumping back to an unknown era.

Arthur checked the items he--technically speaking, the he from the past--was carrying with him: a tobacco box, a pipe, and matches--all in the usual pockets and exactly what he needed at that moment. He lit up the pipe with trembling hands and inhaled some soothing smoke from it. Then, he checked the rest of his personal belongings: a mechanical watch, a handkerchief, a revolver fixed on his belt, and a walking stick with a narrow dagger hidden in it. One thing was for sure, his clothes were entirely Victorian. He thought he was standing in the same courtyard, but it was dark, nighttime. Eunuchs and maids, with lanterns in their hands, stayed far away in the corner of the yard, yet peeked at him with a disgusted glare. Something echoed in his brain. He realized he had been planning to see someone who lived in the hall in front of him.

He desired to see him. He feared to see him. He had to see him.

He dragged his legs forward, crossing the void hall, and entered the main bedroom.

And he saw the answer.

Behind the silk curtains of the bed lay a skinny figure, struggling and growling, like a seriously injured wild animal.

A claw of anxiety and dread grabbed Arthur's heart and forced it to stop beating.

"W-why, who... I mean, w-what year is it now?" He finally came up with a question.

"How... how dare you ask in such an... innocent manner...?!" The person's voice was tired and hoarse, but it took no time for Arthur to recognize it.

It was Yao. Injured, tired, and emaciated, but it was definitely him.

Yes, Arthur couldn't mistake those golden eyes. Minutes ago, they were shining at him, like the warm sun rays of spring. Since when did Yao start to smile at him? The times they shared together in recent years were always pleasant. Perhaps that was the reason that he almost forgot all the painful memories he and China went through.

It was no wonder he felt upset when he stepped into this yard. His fading memories all flooded back.

"...It's the first year of Tongzhi's Reign of the Great Qing, or, according to your ridiculous western calendar, the year of eighteen-sixty-two, 22 years after your invasion of discourtesy." Yao managed to sit up on the bed. His breaths were shallow, his wrists were tied together, and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Y-you are crying... I never saw you crying." Arthur almost bit his tongue. What were those stupid, random words coming out of his mouth? Could he not fit himself into the role of the 1862 Great British Empire?

"It's not crying! I never cry in front of an enemy. It's just a reaction from withdrawal," He fell on the sheets again, continuous horrible roars echoing in the void mansion. Arthur saw bruises around his belt-tied wrists. It was a constraint that helped Yao to avoid hurting himself during the drug withdrawal.

"Individual withdrawal helps little, however," said the English man. "You are the representative of the whole country. As long as there are millions of opium addicts among your countrymen, you could never get rid of this torture."

It was such a torture for both of them. Physically for one and mentally for the other.

"You smuggled drugs into my country. Now you come here and give the victim suggestions about drug withdrawal?" He glared at him with sarcasm.

Arthur reached down and put the cigarette holder of his pipe between Yao's teeth. "This could make you feel a little better--"

Choked and coughing, Yao threw the pipe on the nightstand. "Don't try to fool me twice--"

"No, no, tobacco and opium are different. It's a mild fashion within my country..."

"...Even your smell makes me sick, invader."

Arthur felt his blood frosting in his veins.

"Oh? Then it seems you should peel off all your skin to get rid of my smell." Arthur lifted a strand of Yao's black hair, trying to search for the most caustic words, "Is there any part of your body not stained by me?"

"Stop! ...Y-you pervert!"

Yao was hurt by his words, obviously. But things shouldn't go like that. What the hell was he talking about?

"Listen, China. This is not a suggestion. I'm just expressing the facts. The only thing that can help you out of all this suffering is not individual resistance, but functional governance."

Yao looked at him with anger and confusion. What was this man trying to say? Why were those evil green eyes suddenly filled with soft feelings?

When Yao seemed relaxed and when the withdrawal symptoms were finally over, Arthur untied Yao's wrists and helped him sit up.

"Impossible." He bit his lower lip into bloodless white, trying to hold back some immediate pain. "Rebellions are everywhere. Nian Army in the North, Taiping Army in the South, Muslim rebels in the Northwest, Miao rebels in the Southwest, and the rise of Han ministers. That's inevitable... The imperial authority is falling to pieces, and the historical circulation of chaotic era is just about to begin. I could smell the familiar signals..."

Yao's forehead was covered by cold sweat. Arthur took out his handkerchief to wipe it off, but got stopped by Yao's elbow immediately. His golden eyes widened in caution and astonishment.

Even this small gesture of good will was rare enough to surprise him. What a badass you used to be, Great British Empire, Arthur murmured to himself in the back of his heart.

Arthur knew there was little he could teach Yao to change the situation. China had already started to learn some western military technology, but history would prove that those were far from enough to save him. England was good at compromise and negotiation and proud of his bloodless Glorious Revolution, while China was accustomed to solve problems through uprisings and violent wars. A Manchu Emperor could not be acceptable forever in the waves of awakening nationalism, and what awaited him were political turmoils and civil wars caused by the absence of central authority. No one could bear this predestined fate as a substitute, except himself.

What would you do if you were stuck in the past and could never come back? Arthur asked himself. Perhaps he should try to stop the deadly world wars? It could save millions of lives and give England and Europe a more comfortable curtain call when the tides of colonialism were over. It would be a rational decision, as an ordinary human being, and as an Englishman.

However, humans are stubborn creatures. Europeans learnt peaceful coexistence only after the bloody wars. Humanity ahead of its time would become a weakness in a jungle society like the world of 1860s. Moreover, as the best player of conspiracy and backstabbing of this era, Arthur should not hesitate to benefit from situations while leaving others to bleed and suffer.

Extra kindness kills. He always remembered that.

Oh, free trade, the holy, glorious free trade. All these sufferings were what he deserved for being stubborn and ignorant about the new rules of the outside world. After all, Mr. England, the Great Empire who spread lights of enlightenment to the rest of the world, shouldn't be the first one to blame.

But still, he could not get rid of the feeling of guilt. He wanted to give the struggling, poor little man in front of him a tender hug without any sexual intention; he wanted to kiss away the pain on his lips; he wanted to tell him that all these hardships would end in the future, even though he had to go through a dark, freezing night of eternity; and, finally, he wanted... he wanted to see Yao's smile again--was he asking for too much?

A pair of hands reached for him, wobbling, but firm. What was he doing? He found Yao unbuttoning his coat in a skilled manner.

"What's wrong with you, opium bastard? What's that twisted expression on your face? Isn't this what you are expecting in the end every time you come?"

Why was he doing this all of a sudden? Arthur should have known that Yao just viewed him as an invader, a drug smuggler, a bastard who took away his beloved little brother, a pervert that indulged in his flesh out of abnormal desires.

Arthur bent down and wrapped Yao's shoulder with his arms. Yao's bones stuck against his chest.

"No, you don't have to do this, at least for tonight," Arthur whispered into Yao's ear in the softest voice.

Click.

A crisp sound of trigger. Arthur's face froze. He heard maids screaming and Imperial Guards approaching from far away. He heard his revolver dropped into the pool of his blood on the ground.

The last thing he saw was something shining and streaming down from those golden eyes.

Arthur fell into the endless darkness.

 

* * *

 

A sharp pain dominated his heart, like a blazing bullet shooting through and tearing it into pieces. He woke up, only to find someone looking at him with great concern and relief.

A pair of golden eyes.

He saw the blue sky of early spring. He smelt the pure fragrance of plum blossoms. He heard the hustling pigeon whistles.

Yao murmured some complaints. It seemed Arthur got lost in the forest of plum trees, and Yao managed to find him sitting under one of them, sleeping like a child.

"Where is your gentleman's manner? Wandering around without permission is very impolite in diplomatic visits." He leaned down and tenderly flicked away some snow-like petals from his blond hair.

Nothing was more precious than his meaningless complaining.

Arthur dragged Yao into his embrace and held him tight.

"Yao, history cannot be changed, right? No matter how regretful you feel, those who want to challenge the fate would get punished in the end. Nothing meaningful could be done. Time travel is just daydreaming or fiction after all."

China pulled back a little and thought for a while. It seemed he realized something unusual. He smiled, shook his head, and picked out an old, used smoke pipe from his pocket. It was decorated with a silver heraldry. Two letters, "A" and "K", were surrounded by Victorian styled roses and a lion.

"Well, I don't really think so." He blinked, "What about you?"

-fin.-

**Author's Note:**

> * Pigeon whistle is a whistle made of bamboo or gourd and tied on a pigeon's tail. It will produce a peaceful and pleasant sound when pigeons are flying, which scares the eagles away and thus protects the pigeon flocks. If you visit Beijing on a sunny day, you will hear it.
> 
> ** Grandpa Heaven is a humorous way to call the Heaven in Chinese.
> 
> *** Many Chinese pop novels about time travel start with a visit to the Forbidden City, but it can only send you back to Ming or Qing Dynasty of course!


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